


Press

by Celebratory Penguin (cpenguing)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: "Bigger than Jesus" Controversy, Chicago press conference, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpenguing/pseuds/Celebratory%20Penguin
Summary: John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with?





	Press

**Author's Note:**

> The subject is the run-up to the first Chicago press conference, when Tony Barrow convinced John to apologize and whatever he said was enough to bring John to tears.
> 
> I don't think he talked about money.
> 
> Pure speculation.

PRESS

***

August 11, 1966  
Chicago, Illinois  
Astor Hotel

 

"Fuck 'em."

John stood toe to toe with Brian, head lifted, shoulders back, his eyes flashing a schoolboy's defiance that was incongruous with the hard, mature edges of his face.

He heard someone say his name very softly. It could have been either George or Paul, who were flanking him, each with a hand on his upper arm. George's fingers were tight, restraining him, while Paul's were gentler, meant to soothe.

It was in that moment that John realized how hard his blood was pumping, because normally he could tell his friends' voices apart from across a roomful of nattering reporters, much less mere inches from his ear.

John was as angry as he could ever remember being, in a lifetime full of very good reasons to lose his temper. How dare they, these idiotic Americans, how dare they spin out his words and twist them into a rope to hang him with? 

"We agreed to a press conference - again - but I never agreed to apologize and I just won't do it! I didn't do anything wrong!" John shouted, not for the first time that day. "This is their madness and I'm not going to apologize for their stupidity!"

He saw Brian's gaze shift to Paul. Supplicating. _Make him see reason_. In his peripheral vision he could see Paul shake his head. _I've tried. I can't._

Brian's sigh turned into a harsh cough. John's breath hitched as he remembered that Brian had all but crawled out of his London sickbed to come to America and straighten out this disaster. And it was a disaster from start to finish, from the baying crowds and record burnings to the mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging preachers, all calling for Beatle Blood.

"John," came Ringo's voice from somewhere behind George, "don't you think it might help to, you know, put your cap in your hand and just--"

"No!" John whirled around, shaking off George and Paul, and jabbed a finger in Ringo's direction. "I'll be damned if I utter one word of apology for something that was never my doing!"

"Not that you apologize much when something IS of your doing," muttered George.

Seething, John rounded on George. "Fuck off!"

"No, John, YOU fuck off!" George retorted. His face, normally so composed, was twisted in an enraged grimace, and his sharp, white teeth glistened around a snarl. "Your fault, not your fault, no one cares! But you're the only one who can fix it!"

"Guys." Paul's speech had a trace of sibilance; his lip had swollen where he'd been biting it, for hours if not days. His complexion was chalk-white. "We can't do this now, okay?"

"Easy enough for you to say," John heard himself spitting at Paul. "It's not you they're planning to execute, is it?"

A sixth voice, one they didn't hear very often, crashed through the argument like thunder, and a hand landed squarely on his shoulder. "Lennon. With me. Now."

It was Tony Barrow.

John bristled at the demanding grasp. He glared at Tony, who glared back - a form of unspoken communication that Brian had never gotten the hang of - and shoved John forward. Glancing behind, John saw the other three rooted to the spots where they'd been standing. Ringo's face was almost a cartoon mask of confusion, George's was wrathful, and Paul looked ready to either cry or vomit.

So much fear and misery, all over a few sentences that were quoted out of context.

Tony and Brian led John from the corridor to a small conference room and motioned for him to sit at the table. Brian sat at his right hand, Tony opposite them.

"You're going to apologize," Tony said evenly.

Twisting in his chair, John lifted his middle finger at Tony and turned away from him.

"You're going to apologize," repeated Tony as he rose and walked behind John. "You can go in on your own, or take the other three with you - if they're speaking to you, and I wouldn't blame them if they weren't - that's up to you. But you're going to give an apology, and that's that."

John, his arms folded over the back of his chair, looked up at Tony and saw the firm set of his square jaw. "What do you think I should apologize for? The fact that these people don't seem to be able to read? Should I go in and apologize that they don't know how to think?"

"John," Brian rasped, "there's a lot at stake here. I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. This is not the time for a wisecrack."

"I think this is the perfect time for a wisecrack!" John raked a hand through his hair. "You're just trying to save the tour, aren't you? Save the money!" 

Tony's face reddened. "Do you honestly think this has anything whatsoever to do with the tour, with business, anymore?"

"There's the matter of safety, too," Brian added, his eyes pleading with John to settle down, to see reason.

John wasn't having it, not this time. "It's not your ass on the line, here, Brian, it's mine, and I'm not going to sell out--"

"John, just shut up and listen for a change." Tony raised his voice, something John had never heard him do. Shocked, John sat up a little straighter. Tony leaned over him and locked eyes. "This isn't about the tour anymore. No one cares about the money. Did you know that Brian was willing to cancel? That he offered to buy out the contract, just so that you didn't have to come here?"

John hadn't known that, of course, and he stared at Brian as if he were a stranger. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally high and strained to his own ears.

Brian nodded. He put a hand lightly on John's arm. "If anything happened to you - to any of you - I'd never forgive myself."

"Any of us?" John snorted. "It's me the hounds are after! Just throw me in front of the crowds and let 'em lead me off to the gallows, is that the plan? Because if it is, let me tell you--"

"Shut it, Lennon." Tony leaned over John, eyes narrowed. "Yes, these are ridiculous people and they're backwards and ignorant. They also have guns, John, lots and lots of guns."

"And they're going to shoot them at ME!"

"What makes you think that their aim is any better than their reading comprehension? Sure, they'll be shooting at you, but what if they MISS, have you thought of what happens then? Half of them can't tell you boys apart, anyway. Are you planning to smart-arse your way out of watching Ringo take a bullet for you?"

John almost stopped breathing. _Ringo..._

"'He's too far away onstage to hit by accident,' you'll tell us," Tony continued, mocking John's nasal accent before returning to his own voice. His next words were even more shocking. "What about George, then? Are you willing to explain to him why he'll never play the guitar again, because you couldn't be arsed to apologize? Will you be able to look him in the eye when the shot meant for you blows his fucking hand off?"

Shivering wtih fear rather than cold, John curled in on himself. He shut his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, his head ringing with George's phantom screams.

_All because of me, my fault..._

John felt Tony's hands on his wrists, forcing them apart. When he looked up at Tony, John's vision was blurred with hot tears. "Stop," he implored. "I'll apologize."

As if weighing the sincerity of John's words, Tony paused and looked at him for several long seconds. Then he dealt the final blow. "What if it's Paul? He's always right next to you, practically joined at the hip. You'll be sharing a mic one moment, and the next he'll be doubled over with his hands over his belly."

_Oh, please, not Paul..._

"No!" Gasping, John turned to Brian for help, but Brian's gaze was downcast, removed.

Tony plowed ahead. "D'you know that a gunshot wound to the gut is one of the worst ways to die? It's a slow death, an agonizing death, and you'll get to listen to him scream, you'll get to watch him fucking DIE, right there, but that'll be okay because your precious principles weren't compromised. He'll forgive you with his last breath, John, but he'll die because of you. Only because of you."

John buried his face in his hands. Tears spilled out from between his shaking fingers, winding a looped path down his wrists. To John, they felt like Paul's lifeblood spilling out in waves over his guilty hands, the scent metallic and earthy. He wanted to kneel, to pour every drop back into Paul's body but it was too late, too late, and Paul would never forgive him, would never KNOW...

"Stop it! Stop! I'll do it, I'll say anything, tell me what you want me to say and I'll do it," John stammered between painful, shallow breaths. He lifted his head and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall. His eyes were puffy, the rims blood-red, and his lips trembled uncontrollably. 

At last, Brian knelt next to John and covered John's hands with his own. "Do you understand, now, John? I'd never have asked you if there had been any other way at all we could handle this."

Unable to speak, John nodded curtly. Brian patted him on the back, then rubbed small circles there until John's tears were spent.

"I can't..." John began, then cleared his aching throat. "I can't be responsible for...for anything happening. To me. Or to them." He looked from Brian to Tony. "I'll say anything," he repeated, more calmly now. 

Seemingly satisfied, Tony helped John out of the chair and led him out to the corridor where Mal was waiting with the other Beatles. John mussed Ringo's hair affectionately. George's eyebrows were raised in surprise, but when John suddenly grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, he looked so astonished that John almost burst out laughing.

Almost.

He glanced over at Paul, who looked almost as miserable as John himself. Paul tilted his head, his wide eyes asking what his lips could not: _Are you okay?_

 _No. I may never be okay again_ , thought John, but he loped toward Paul with outstretched arms and clasped him tightly for a long moment, dampening Paul's hair with a stray tear.

"What's that for?" Paul asked, his voice dark with emotion. "Steady on, Johnny, steady on."

John rubbed his wet cheek against Paul's jacket, then stepped back. "I'm going to apologize," he said as he looked at each of them in turn. His eyes lingered on George, who had been so furious with him for his stubbornness.

George rewarded him with a smile. "Good, then," were all the words he uttered, but there were entire sonnets in the loving tone.

Exhausted, enervated, John let his head droop. He stared dumbly at the carpet, trying to gather words that would release him, release them all, from this madhouse. 

"When do we go in?" Ringo asked. 

"You don't. I do," replied John, lifting his head just long enough to give Ringo a watery smile of thanks, then resuming his study of the carpet.

Then he saw a pair of boots right in front of him, and another, and a third. He looked up to see the other three standing so close that he could smell their different aftershaves.

"We'll go together," George declared.

John pressed his lips together, blinking fast to prevent a fresh flood of tears. There would be humiliation enough in the next half hour to last a lifetime. But if it would keep them safe...

"Ready, boys?" Brian asked, breaking into John's train of thought.

"Absolutely," Ringo and George chorused, smirking at the synchronism. Paul leaned against John's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "You're John fucking Lennon. You can do this. You can do anything."

Brian opened the door to the suite where the reporters were waiting. John took a deep breath. _I'm John fucking Lennon. I can do this. I can do anything_ , he said to himself as he followed Paul into the lion's den. 

***  
END  
***


End file.
